Secrets
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: Elizabeth keeps disappearing every night.
1. Suspicion

"I'm going out," Elizabeth announced as she passed the living room on her way out the door.

"Hold on," John looked up from his laptop. "Where are you going at this hour?" It was nearly midnight.

"Midnight concert in Regent's," Elizabeth leaned on the doorway. "Yes, I will be back before two. Yes, I am going with a friend. Reid, actually."

"Good girl," John waved her on. "Now don't let me keep you."

"Who's Reid?" John had almost forgotten Sherlock was even there. He had been silent, just brooding on the sofa for the past two hours.

"Her best friend," John answered. "He's a nice boy. I don't know why she doesn't date him. But apparently, it's complicated or some other teenage drama."

"Who's playing in Regent's?" Sherlock asked.

"I have no idea," John went back to typing his next blog entry.

Five minutes later, Sherlock asked again, "Do you know if this Reid likes jazz?"

"What?" John wasn't sure why Sherlock was asking him this. "I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because Elizabeth dislikes jazz music with a passion. There is no way she would willingly go to this concert. Maybe she and this boy really are dating."

"They're not," John insisted. "Elizabeth told me so this morning. She was quite adamant about it. Apparantly it annoys them both that everyone constantly ships them."

"Ships them?" Sherlock was giving John the weirdest look.

"When you ship two people, you're saying that you think they're perfect for each other. It's a teen thing, I think." John explained. "Don't look at me like that. I can't help it, she rubs off on me. I caught myself referring to a woman as a 'chic' the other day?"

"Did you actually call this woman a 'chic'?"

"Thankfully, no," John chuckled. "It was only in my head."

"For the record, I have no idea where she gets that stuff from." Sherlock said. "But back to the point: jazz music."

"Sherlock, let it go," John advised. "Maybe her musical tastes are changing."

Sherlock frowned but he sank back into his Mind Palace.

The next night, Elizabeth went out again. This time she was going to a midnight Teen Rally.

"What is a Teen Rally?" Sherlock asked John. In an unspoken agreement, they were both waiting up for Elizabeth. They almost always did.

"I don't know, Sherlock," John didn't look up from his newspaper.

"Do you think it's a rally for drugs or alcohol?" Sherlock sounded a little worried.

John sighed, flipping down the top of his paper, "Think logically. Would Elizabeth go anywhere near drugs or alcohol?"

"Not knowingly," Sherlock allowed. "But I also didn't think she'd ever go to a jazz concert."

"Not this again!" John exclaimed. "If you're so bloody curious, why don't you just ask her?"

"She isn't here!" Sherlock argued.

"Then ask her when she gets back!" John was annoyed now. He ignored the rest of Sherlock's comments, concentrating solely on the rugby scores.

Three nights later, John had to admit it was getting a little suspicious.

In the span of four days, Elizabeth had gone to a rally, two concerts, and a skating contest. John couldn't wait to see what she was doing tonight.

Ah, tonight was the midnight showing of Lights Out. Great, have fun.

As soon as Elizabeth left, Sherlock leapt to the window, watching her walk down the street.

"Come on, John," Sherlock threw John's coat at him, and then slid his own on.

"What? Where are we going?"

"We are going to follow Elizabeth," Sherlock led the way down the stairs.

"Wait, Sherlock," John followed him out the door. "Why can't you just ask Mycroft if she's been where she says?"

"I did," Sherlock whispered, staying close to the buildings as they tailed Elizabeth.

"And?" John asked just as quietly.

"He said that she had been to a rally, two concerts, and a skating contest."

"Then why are we following her?" John cried under his breath.

"Because he didn't provide proof."

"But he said-" John started.

"Yes, he _said_. Mycroft always provides unrefutable proof. He didn't provide video feeds or anything."

John didn't see why that meant anything.

"Trust me, John," Sherlock breathed. "Something's going on. Elizabeth is keeping something from me, and Mycroft is helping her. I have to find out what's going on. Will you help me?"

John glanced up at Sherlock. He almost couldn't see the detective's face in the dark and shadows. What he could see told him that Sherlock was very worried. He was convinced that Elizabeth was in some sort of trouble. And what made it worse for him was that Elizabeth was apparently confiding in Mycroft and not him. His brilliant mind was running through the worst possible scenarios at the moment.

It was these moments when John saw his friend as he truly was, not as he pretended to be.

Sherlock claimed to be a high-functioning sociopath. He was adamant that emotions were not his area.

But here he was.

Sherlock was scared. He was worried for the wellbeing of another person.

"Of course, Sherlock. I'll help you."


	2. Evasion

_"Trust me, John," Sherlock breathed. "Something's going on. Elizabeth is keeping something from me, and Mycroft is helping her. I have to find out what's going on. Will you help me?"_

 _John glanced up at Sherlock. He almost couldn't see the detective's face in the dark and shadows. What he could see told him that Sherlock was very worried. He was convinced that Elizabeth was in some sort of trouble. And what made it worse for him was that Elizabeth was apparently confiding in Mycroft and not him. His brilliant mind was running through the worst possible scenarios at the moment._

 _It was these moments when John saw his friend as he truly was, not as he pretended to be._

 _Sherlock claimed to be a high-functioning sociopath. He was adamant that emotions were not his area._

 _But here he was._

 _Sherlock was scared. He was worried for the wellbeing of another person._

 _"Of course, Sherlock. I'll help you."_

John stuck close to Sherlock as they trailed Elizabeth. He was worried too, but he knew that he needed to stay calm for the sake of the detective.

John knew Elizabeth. He knew that she was honest, respectful, and kind.

So whatever this was... It was big. He trusted her enough to believe that. Whatever she was doing, she had a good reason, and he hoped that Sherlock realized that as well.

The big question was: why was Mycroft involved?

Had Elizabeth gone to him? Had he found out through a camera or surveillance? How long had this been going on? Why did they not tell Sherlock?

John was a bit afraid of the answers.

They tracked Elizabeth to the Diogenes Club. There John and Sherlock were forced to hide in the shadows a few yards away. They couldn't get any closer running the risk of being seen.

"Does it matter if they see us?" John asked.

"Not really, Mycroft already knows that we suspect them. Skull cam and audio and all that," Sherlock replied. "I was hoping that he would just tell me, or at least warn me to stay away. But he hasn't been in touch at all."

John nodded, "So what do we do?"

"We go in," Sherlock pushed off of the wall and walked to the door of the Diogenes. John followed him inside.

The Club was deserted at this time of night, but a small strip of light was visible under the door to the Stranger's Room. When they reached the door, Sherlock attempted to open it, but found it looked.

John could hear distinct rustling and hushed voices coming from inside. Sherlock lost it at that moment and began throwing his shoulder against the door. The voices became louder and more frantic, but John still couldn't recognize any of them.

Sherlock finally burst into the room.

It was empty. Sherlock swore and raced to the window, which was wide open. John ran over and peered at it. Outside, there was a fire escape and ladder to the ground. He searched around the darkness, but he saw no one.

Elizabeth raced through the streets. Lestrade, Anderson, and Norman were just behind her, panting with the effort of running.

She hated keeping this from her father, but it was what He had demanded. He had allowed anyone else but Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to know and assist.

He was playing a game with her, she knew that. Obviously He was someone Sherlock had had dealings with before, and the detective had most likely beaten Him. So now, He was taking his frustrations out on Sherlock's family.

They felt safe enough to stop running when they were ten blocks away.

"That was too close," Lestrade huffed. "We'll have to find another location."

"Are we _sure_ they didn't see us?" Anderson asked, eyes wide.

"I think you're all safe," Elizabeth said. "But they definitely know I'm involved somehow."

"I wish we still had the cams in your flat," Lestrade muttered. "We could find out how much they know."

"I can't put them back online without running the risk of him hacking them," Norman reminded him. He ran his hands through his longish brown hair, sighing.

"It's been six days," Anderson said matter-of-factly. "How are we even sure he's still alive?" Lestrade punched him in the arm, and he glared at his boss.

"All we have to go by is _His_ word," Elizabeth snarled angrily. "That has to be good enough. But when I get my hands on Him..."

"Agreed," Norman nodded.

Lestrade turned to Elizabeth, "What are you going to do? You can't go home now. Sherlock could probably deduce everything in a second now that he knows something's up."

"I know," Elizabeth sighed. She wished she could go home, but she knew that she couldn't. This was going to destroy Sherlock's trust in her. She couldn't wait until they solved this, and then she could finally tell him and get him to understand.

"You can stay with me," Norman offered. "I live in one of Mycroft's many safehouses. It is totally secure."

"Thanks, Norman," Elizabeth smiled.

"If you don't mine, Norman," Lestrade said. "My flat is on the other side of London, and it is getting pretty late..." Norman nodded, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Elizabeth, but I don't really know this guy. Didn't even know he existed until this all started."

"What about tomorrow night?" Anderson asked. "Where are we going to meet?"

"What about Scotland Yard's secret evidence warehouse?" Norman suggested. "It is fairly secure."

"That could work," Lestrade nodded. "And actually, there isn't much traffic during the day. Now that Elizabeth doesn't have to keep up appearances for Sherlock, Norman, she can work with you all the time. And that means too, Anderson, that Sherlock is going to be on high alert. He might not take our cases, but if he does we have to be ready to fool him."

"Wouldn't be better to not ask for his help until we get this finished?" Anderson questioned.

"He would think something's up," Elizabeth answered. "He already assumes that Mycroft is involved, but he doesn't know in what capacity. If the police suddenly seem more competent than usual, he'll think that you know something."

The men could see the truth in her logic. She would know Sherlock's thoughts better than anyone.

"Alright, everyone," Lestrade went into boss-man mode. "Anderson, have a good night. Meet us in the warehouse at nine tomorrow night."

Anderson nodded and poked his head out of the alley. Then he walked out and down the street, disppearing into the night.

"The safehouse isn't far from here," Norman led them down the street, opposite from the direction Anderson had taken.

"How much longer do you think this will go on?" Lestrade wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Elizabeth sighed.

Mycroft Holmes has been held captive for six days.


End file.
